


Know You're Enough

by infinitely_perpetually



Category: Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitely_perpetually/pseuds/infinitely_perpetually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa and Norman have been close friends and confidants for years. They've always agreed to keep things simple between them, but when lines are crossed, simple may no longer be good enough.</p><p>--<br/>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are based on real people, but they are strictly fictional. The events depicted have not occurred. I adore all of these people and mean no offense to anybody named in this work.</p><p>This story starts at the end of Season 4 filming. It will likely include spoilers through the end of Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A party at the end of Season 4 filming brings some long-forgotten feelings to the surface.

**A/N:**  This is dedicated to Shelly. I hope it's worthy of her awesomeness.

This is my first attempt at writing McReedus. I'm not a McReedus shipper per se, but the fics here are so amazing I can't stop reading them (y'all just might be swaying me). This idea popped into my head and here we are. I've never written racy stuff before, but yeah – it's going to go there sooner or later. You've been warned.

"Know You're Enough" comes from a song called "Cover Me Up" by Jason Isbell. It's amazing and gives me tons of feels, and happened to inspire this little bit of writing. 

 

* * *

 

_That's her, but that ain't her,_  Melissa thought. She was staring so hard at her reflection she thought she might somehow see through the mirror to a magical land waiting just beyond.  _Maybe I'll go there instead,_ the not altogether unwelcome thought popped into her head. 

Her nerves were fluttering and she wasn't quite sure why. The party was going to be very low-key and everybody attending was a good friend. Most she considered family. Why be nervous about wearing something a bit more daring than her usual choices?

The outfit was gorgeous and didn't show nearly as much skin as she'd worried it would. Besides, she trusted Lauren, who'd talked her into buying it in the first place. Maybe she'd stand next to her and her glorious gams all night, so the others would be distracted from her own choice of clothing.

The white, breezy blouse was just a touch bohemian, which she adored. She lightly ran her fingers over the open eyelets at the shoulder and then turned slightly to view the open back. Lauren was right; she looked terrific.  _Screw it,_  she thought.  _I'm gonna own this._

She stood a little straighter and smoothed her cobalt blue skirt as Lincoln padded into the room. "What do you think, mister? Am I fabulous?" she asked the basset hound and twirled around. He wagged his tail at the sound of her voice and she smiled and patted him on the head.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said and he gave out a happy little howl. "Good boy," she praised, giggling that the only man she felt she truly needed in her bedroom had four legs, terrible breath, and an insatiable appetite for dog biscuits.

She grabbed her phone and her keys, patted Lincoln one last time, and trotted out the door.

* * *

The party was in full swing when Melissa arrived at the house nestled deep in the woods. The official wrap party had been two nights ago, but the smaller group had begun their own tradition of gathering before they scattered at the end of each season. Only the cast, a handful of crew and the interns attended the blowout. No bosses were extended the invitation, though they had once considered making an exception for Greg. Ultimately, that idea was vetoed in favor of being able to hear the amusing stories the interns would tell once the alcohol loosened their lips.

She was pleasantly surprised when she saw the entryway. Norman had offered to host this year and, always the artist, a series of his black and white photographs - arrows, street signs, crossbow bolts - directed her through the house to the large back deck.

From what she remembered of his last party, which honestly wasn't a whole lot with all the wine she'd had, the isolated location lent itself to some fairly wild behavior. Everyone seemed to let go a bit more knowing there would be no prying eyes nearby.

Sure enough, she could hear raucous laughter echoing down the hallway before she'd even closed the front door behind her, but took her time, studying each photo as she made her way toward the festivities. It was a shared interest and she appreciated the creative way he had used it as signage. Her nerves dissipated as she made her way down the hall.

Eventually she spotted Steven through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows in the kitchen that looked out onto the expanse of backyard and trees beyond. He was surrounded by a semi-circle of onlookers who were in fits over his uncanny impression of a particularly difficult director from a previous season. The comedian caught a glimpse of her through the glass and broke character, waving and shouting her name as she opened the back door.

_So much for sneaking in_ , she thought, but she loved his enthusiasm to see her. She adored him and hoped they got to work together more next season. She'd barely seen him on set this past year. She'd barely seen any of them, for that matter. The entire cast had been split apart so long during filming, the wrap party had felt like a reunion of sorts. Melissa was particularly thrilled that everyone was able to stay in town long enough to attend tonight before they went their separate ways during hiatus.

Steven ran over and pulled her into a bear hug. "Oh, okay then!" she stammered as he picked her up and twirled her around, nearly colliding with more than one person in the process. "Just how much have you had to drink?" she asked when she finally felt terra firma again. 

"Enough that I cut him off twenty minutes ago," came a raspy voice from the far corner of the deck. Melissa looked over to see Michael Rooker standing behind the bar while Norman leaned back against it, laughing at the way she wobbled dizzily toward them.

"Yeah, probably a good idea. But damn, it's awfully early to be flagged. I think he broke some sort of land-speed record," she giggled as she put a steadying hand on the bar. "I had no idea you'd be here," she beamed at Michael.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek by way of greeting. "Had a stopover on my way to L.A. and I couldn't pass this up." 

She glanced at Norman, eyes riveted to the open back of her blouse, and cleared her throat. A hint of a blush colored his cheeks and he slapped the bar and declared, "Another shot of whiskey, please, bartender. And one for my beautiful friend here. She's got some catching up to do." He threw his arm around her shoulder and drew her close.

"You look great, Mel," he whispered against her ear. He let his lips graze her earlobe before stepping back and giving her a mischievous wink.

The butterflies from earlier found their wings again. Norman's flirtations had always made her pulse race just a little faster. She'd been around him for all of thirty seconds tonight and already found her mind beginning to wander to places she'd do better to avoid. Once upon a time, she'd considered going down that road, but circumstances had kept her in check. After seeing the parade of pretty young things that traipsed through his life, she was grateful she'd kept her head on her shoulders, and was determined to keep doing so now. Fighting the urge to stare at the way his shoulders filled his black V-neck shirt, she instead focused her attention on the shot glasses in front of her. 

"Whiskey?" she crinkled her nose. The guys smirked at each other and Michael reached for a bottle of wine and stemless glass. "Make it bourbon," she ordered. When Norman's eyebrow shot up, she threw him a little sass. "What? You know they'd never let me go home again if I passed up bourbon for regular ol' whiskey."

Michael pulled a different bottle from beneath the bar and poured obligingly. "Kentucky women. Gotta love 'em," he chuckled as he slid the glasses toward them and began to pour one of his own.

"Oh, I do," Norman answered as he raised his glass toward Melissa and threw back the shot. She was about to drink her own, hoping to blame the alcohol for the rising flush in her cheeks, when a hand gently reached out and stopped her.

"Sorry to interrupt," a smooth British accent lilted, "but I was hoping you would be willing to drive me to go get more ice. I know you just got here and I feel terrible. It's just that I've had a few of those myself and I figure you're still capable of driving. Please?" Norman glared at Andy, but Melissa instantly put her glass down and gave him a warm hug.

"Of course," she said. She turned toward Michael and Norman. "Need anything else while we're out?"

Norman patted his pocket. "I'm kinda low on cigarettes," he said hopefully.

"Anything  _else_?" she asked pointedly, unwilling to enable the habit she'd been trying to convince him to break for the last few years. 

"Oooo, Red Vines," Michael answered excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a toddler who'd won some sort of prize.

"Red Vines all around then," she replied. "Help yourself to that," she gestured toward the bourbon. "But you'd better save some of that bottle for me."

She took Andy's proffered arm and strolled toward the door.

* * *

Norman was fixated on watching her walk away when the question filtered through to his consciousness.

"So when did that happen?" Michael asked.

"What?" he blinked in confusion.

Michael nodded toward Melissa, now laughing at something Andy had said as they disappeared back into the house. " _That._ You two. I always had a feeling, but when did you seal the deal?"

Norman finally understood the implication and shook his head, chuckling low. "Nah, man. We're just friends." 

"Bullshit," Michael replied, never one to pull punches. "The way you two are making googly eyes at each other and blushing every time you do?"

"Googly eyes? Yeah, I don't think so. Sorry to disappoint, but that's never gonna happen," Norman assured him. 

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Really now? How can you be sure?" he prodded. "What I saw looked a bit… different." 

"She shot that down a long time ago," Norman answered flatly. "That's how." He grabbed the abandoned shot of bourbon and twirled it around his fingers, watching the lights glint off the amber liquid.

"Okay," Michael said, drawing out the syllables while he tried to think of how to respond.

He was mildly surprised at Norman's admission there'd been some sort of attempt in the past. As much as he had his fun, he'd never known the guy to kiss and tell. "Wanna talk about it?" 

Norman downed the shot and plunked the glass down on the concrete countertop. "Nope." 

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, took two long drags, and promptly put it out. 

"Tryin' to quit," he said when Michael looked at him suspiciously.

_Yeah, you're tryin' to quit something alright_ , Michael thought as he cleared the shot glass from the bar.

"Good luck with that," he said instead.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman reflects on the past and makes a decision about his friendship with Melissa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and re-wrote this about a thousand times, and I'm still not quite happy with this chapter, but here it is anyway. I also owe Steven Yeun a bit of an apology.

A short time later Melissa and Andy returned, three bags of ice and a large plastic bucket of Red Vines in hand. Steven spotted the candy and nearly tackled Sonequa in an effort to get to it, but Melissa held it high over her head and easily outpaced him to the bar.

"Gentlemen, I come bearing gifts," she proclaimed and dropped the bucket into Michael's outstretched hands. "And I believe I'm owed a shot of your finest." 

"Oh, me too!" Steven slurred as he caught up to her and crashed into the bar, clinging to it for support.

She eyed him with pity, but Norman started laughing. "Looks like I better go get the guest room ready. I'm not subjecting a cab driver to that," he said and sauntered toward the house.

He was grateful for the excuse to get a few minutes alone to think. The conversation with Michael had opened a door that had long since closed, and it rattled him. He hadn't thought about that night in over two years, but in the last hour he'd replayed it over a dozen times in his mind.  _I want to._  The words hadn't sunk in at the time, lost among the rest. Now he was tripping over them and couldn't regain his balance.

It was an innocent invitation. She'd asked him over to run through a new scene so they could work out how to achieve the right tone and subtext between their characters. 

Her demeanor seemed quieter than usual when she answered the door and poured him some wine, but when they started running lines, she came to life. "I can't lose you, too." Tears. Actual tears while rehearsing. Her performance was so moving he forgot himself and simply watched her. Her large, sparkling eyes imploring him to stay. Her bottom lip quivering slightly when she delivered her last line.

He'd always found her lovely, but he was mesmerized looking at her now. Anything. He would have done absolutely anything she asked him to do in that moment. The thought should have scared him, but he felt strangely liberated by it.

His eyes tracked a tear as it traced its way down her cheek. He'd just begun to lift his hand to wipe it away when she waved her own in front of his face. "Ground control to Major Tom," she said, the upward-tugging curve of her mouth a direct contradiction to the tears she now cleared with the back of her own hand.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry, I…" he apologized, reluctantly snapping back to reality. "Damn, Mel. How do you do that?"

"Do what? Cry on cue?" she asked. The look on her face was genuine. She had no idea it was far more than crying on cue that had stopped him cold.

"Not just that," he explained. "It was like you barely did anything, but you did… so much. Seriously, Mel, that was gorgeous. I forgot we were acting."

Her cheeks were already pink from crying, but the shade deepened with his admission. She glanced down and started talking about the combination of acting methods she drew on, and he had to force himself to pay attention to her words. His formal training was lacking and she was generously providing him an opportunity to learn some new tools. It took everything he had to listen and not get lost in her face when she looked back up at him. Her cheeks were still damp, but her eyes reflected a smooth confidence instead of the vulnerability she'd expressed a few minutes ago.

"Want to try again?" she asked. 

He kept it together enough to get through the scene twice. Afterward, he felt the need to apologize for the ending. "I really hate calling you names like that." He'd done some truly awful things on-screen in his career, much worse than calling someone a stupid bitch, but he still detested having to say those words to her.

"I know you do. But I need to react to them, so you'd better be all in when the cameras are rolling. No half-assing it, cupcake," she said with a strained smile, still trying to stem her emotions from their last run-through. 

"Cupcake?" he snorted.

"You heard me."

He saw she was struggling to regain her composure despite the humorous jabs and said the first thing he could think of to play along.

"I prefer Pookie," he tossed back at her, feigning a look of complete seriousness.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, mirroring his tone. "No half-assing it,  _Pookie_."

"That's better," he responded, watching another tear escape her.

The impulse to wipe it away came surging back and he didn't resist. He reached out and cupped her jaw, skimming his thumb across her cheek. She looked surprised, but when she didn't flinch away, he softly kissed her forehead. Then her other cheek, wet and salty from her distress. He licked the salt from his lips and looked down at her eyes, wide and staring into his.  _Anything,_  he thought again. He tilted her chin upward and leaned down.

"Don't," she whispered, pushing against him. "I'm sorry. I… I want to. I just… can't. I can't," the words tumbled out of her in fits and starts. Instead of gentle weeping, her body was beginning to rack with sobs.

The trance he'd fallen into broke apart, concern instantly overshadowing his selfish fascination. "What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just… You should go," she choked out, turning away from him and heading toward the door.

"Mel, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have… Talk to me," he coaxed. "Please."

She stopped and turned back toward him. "It's not you. It's… I feel so foolish, really, to be this upset over…" her sentence was truncated by another sob.

"Tell me. Whatever it is, I promise you're not foolish," he reassured her.

She hitched a breath and sighed, "My mom called earlier. A friend of mine from high school, she…" She paused to collect herself. "Lymphoma. I didn't even know she was sick. I hadn't seen her in years, but with everything else, with… everyone else. It brings it all back, you know? The loss."

Norman walked toward her and pulled her into his arms. He felt her sink against him and rocked her slightly, trying to provide a bit of comfort against the hurt.

"I asked you over because I didn't want to be alone right now," she admitted. "I wanted a distraction. But that scene, it's all about... I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have called you."

"I'm glad you did," he said soothingly. "I get it."

She looked up at him and the understanding registered on her face. "You do, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded. He'd suffered enough of his own grief to relate to what she was experiencing, and he hated himself for trying to kiss her when she was in such a vulnerable state.

"I'm sorry I…" he hesitated, searching for words that didn't sound as lecherous as he felt, but he couldn't come up with anything. "I'm an asshole, but I tell you what. I'm gonna grab a box of tissues and another bottle of wine, and you're gonna tell me all about your friend. All the fun you had and all the trouble you used to get into together. Keggers, speeding tickets, arrest records. No leaving out any of the juicy embarrassing stuff, okay?"

She managed a weak smile and agreed. They spent hours talking about everyone they missed, intermittently laughing and crying until the wee hours of the night. Eventually they fell asleep slumped against each other on the couch.

The sun was already shining brightly when she roused him, easing him back into wakefulness with a large mug of coffee. He blew away the steam and took a sip, savoring the taste as he began to shake the cobwebs of sleep.

"Hmmm, I'm adding 'makes great coffee' to your list of talents. I think I'm in love," he declared. 

"You fall in love every other day," she teased.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he admitted. "But this coffee just made you number one with a bullet." 

"Well, don't go falling too hard. Unless, of course, you like horrible waffles, because I can make horrible waffles like nobody's business," she answered.

"Horrible waffles sound good, actually, but I should get going. Eye's gonna be mad he missed a meal last night. You know how cats hold grudges," he explained, grabbing his shoes.

"Got this one after an extended vacation two years ago," she said, pointing out a thin scar along her forearm. She scooped his mug off the coffee table and he protested with a whimper.

"Relax. I'm putting it in a travel mug for you," she responded.

"Oh," he said. "I thought maybe you were punishing me for being a dick last night."

She smiled at him as she poured. "You weren't a dick. You had no way of knowing what was going on with me. You were a really good friend and I’m grateful you were here. It helped a lot."

"No cat-level grudge, then?" he asked, hoping that he hadn't damaged their friendship with his impulsive actions.

"No," she replied. "But about that..."

He felt his chest tighten. The residual sleepiness he'd been feeling was replaced by a nervous energy. What if she didn't want to risk spending time alone with him anymore, afraid he'd try to take advantage of her at the earliest opportunity? What if she'd decided their relationship should be strictly professional? He held his breath and waited for her to finish her thought.

"I love you, Norman. As a friend, you know that. That's never gonna change," she started. "But I think it's best if we keep things simple. I adore what we have and I don't want to lose that. I want to be able to tell you anything and everything, and be close to you, and not ever feel uncomfortable or awkward."

Relief washed over him and he started breathing again. She didn't want to cut him out of her life after all. And if that meant he needed to quash what he'd felt the night before, then so be it. After all, she was right; he did seem to fall in love easily and often. But to lose what they had? The thought was enough to keep him on track.

"Me, too. All of that," he agreed. "And I love you, too. As a friend," he added quickly. "But you remember I lick my friends, right?" 

She laughed loudly and shook her head.

"How could I forget? But I think we should reset the ground rules," she said after she pulled herself together. "So, whenever you feel the urge to…" she winced a bit as she said the word, " _lick_ , or kiss or touch or whatever… ask first, like before. And then you can keep doing that, unless I say it's a one-time thing. Deal?" 

He smirked back at her and thrust his hand toward hers, but stopped short of touching her. "Shake on it?" he asked tentatively.

"You  _can_  be taught," she mocked, wide-eyed. "Yes, shake. And then hug. And then a kiss on the cheek, if you please."

He'd taken her up on all three and hadn't considered anything beyond simple since. She meant too much to him to let himself entertain the notion, and their friendship had grown into one of the strongest he had. He'd left that night far behind him and hadn't looked back.

But now Michael had drudged it up and he remembered everything. He couldn't even figure out why he was dwelling on it. He'd moved on. He didn't feel that way about her. She didn't feel that way about him.

_I want to._  Norman reminded himself that she'd been emotionally compromised when she said it. It wasn't real. It was pain and grief and a need for solace. When she was thinking straight, she told him how she actually felt. She wanted to keep it platonic. She didn't want him to ruin their friendship with ridiculous romantic overtures.

He wasn't willing to risk losing everything they'd built by acting on some inkling of feelings that she didn't share. That's how it was then, and that's how it needed to be now.

_Get over yourself, jackass,_  he thought, and headed back out to the party to collect the poor guy who'd be puking into a trashcan for the next several hours.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael tries to get Melissa's side of the story and a wager is made. Norman's view shifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a huge thank you to Peta2 for being a wonderful beta reader and helping me shore up the details of this chapter. And I owe Steven another apology.

Melissa side-eyed the shot glass Michael had placed on the bar. When he was about to tilt the bottle, she put her hand over the glass and shook her head. She gave him a wicked smile and leaned in conspiratorially.

"I'll need at  _least_  a double. This measly thing is not gonna cut it," she nodded toward the glass.

"Well, well. You are a pistol, aren't you?" Michael exclaimed, happily removing the offensive shot glass and pulling out a tumbler. "You just say when, darlin'," he said as he poured.

She counted out the seconds and when she was satisfied, she said the word. Steven was hypnotized by the tumbler and stared longingly as she picked it up and took a long sip. 

"Okay, my turn," he implored Michael, who promptly put the bottle away beneath the bar.

"You're forgetting I cut you off, lightweight," the bartender replied. "Now I suggest you go find that guest room and sleep it off." 

"Oh, come on. I'm fine. Just ask Melissa here. She'll vouch for me. Right, Mel? I'm fine," he slurred, leaning into her.  She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was definitely going to be hurting later. 

"Sure, Steven. Whatever you say," she appeased him. "How about this? You can have a taste of mine if you promise to go straight to bed afterward. Okay?"

His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "Are you tryin' to get me into bed, Mel? Whoa, I thought you'd never ask." He burst out laughing at his own joke, then puckered up and leaned toward her, his lips running straight into the large hand that had reached between them.

Melissa and Michael lost it. Steven looked as startled as one could with impaired reflexes. "What the…" His eyes followed the hand up its arm and he blanched when he saw Norman's face.

"Time to go, Casanova," Norman told him in a tone that left no doubt as to where Steven would be spending the rest of the party.

"But she said I could have a taste," Steven protested.

Norman's withering look had its intended sobering effect.

Steven started looking nervous, stammering, "Um, sorry man. It was a joke. I didn't mean anything by it. I mean, you kiss her all the time." He blinked slowly. "Ooooooh. Oh shit. I'm so sorry. I didn't… I thought it was just your characters that had the hots for each oth…"

"Stop making shit up and come with me," Norman snapped. Steven followed him dutifully, and when they were a safe distance away, Melissa and Michael burst out in laughter again.

"Oh, he is gonna be in a world of pain," she said, watching Steven stagger behind Norman toward the house. "And not just from the hangover. I think Norman's wrath may be epic after that spectacle."

"Well, can't blame the guy for jumping to those conclusions, can you?" Michael asked, poking the bear a bit. He was curious if what he'd seen in her reaction to Norman earlier had been his imagination, or if there was more to it on both sides.

Melissa turned to him in surprise. "What are you talking about?" she asked. He began to second-guess himself, but the blush rising in her cheeks convinced him to keep at it.

"You and Norman. You are awfully cozy. I mean, I know he gets cozy with everybody. Damn, sometimes I wonder why my wife sticks around as much as he gropes me. But he did seem pretty upset when that kid's lips got near yours," he noted, giving her a questioning look.

"Oh, that? No. He's protective, that's all," she explained. She quickly took another sip of her bourbon, and then drained her glass in one gulp.

"You sure that's all?" Michael plied, pulling the bottle back out from under the bar when she pointed to her empty glass.

"Quite sure, thank you."

She picked up her drink and pivoted toward the party, leaning back against the bar and putting an abrupt end to the line of questioning. Michael felt a wave of guilt for pushing the subject. His intentions had been good, but the unintended consequences were not.

"Hey, darlin', I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. Well, that's bullshit. Actually I do. But I didn't mean to upset you," he said contritely. "I just thought maybe… you know. You seem special to him."

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled wanly. "I’m not. Not like that. Norman's got plenty of special friends, though. Young ones."

As though to illustrate her point, Norman emerged from the house and was instantly surrounded by three interns. Studying the batting eyelashes and flirty giggles, she started mentally putting money on which of the frenemies he'd end up with at the end of the night. She turned back around to face Michael, shimmied onto a barstool, and pulled some Red Vines out of the bucket.

"I'm banking on the brunette," she confided. Michael looked over at the commotion and saw Norman shake his head and remove the brunette's hand from his bicep, then glance toward Melissa.

"I'll take that bet," he said confidently. "What's the wager? Something more interesting than cash, of course."

Her eyes narrowed and she snapped off a piece of candy in her mouth. "Hmmm," she thought aloud. "Loser has to come over tomorrow and drive Steven home. You know that's gonna be unpleasant and Norman's got an early call for reshoots, so he won't be able to do it."

"You're on," Michael enthusiastically clinked his glass against hers.

* * *

By the time Norman convinced the interns he needed to get some sleep before getting to the set, everyone else had left the party, too. Only Melissa and Michael held down the fort. They'd seemed thick as thieves all night, and occasionally their whispering and glancing over at him made him wonder if he should be paranoid. Even when Melissa was off chatting up Danai and Chad, Norman swore he saw the two of them signaling each other across the deck.

When he returned from ensuring the women had all gone out the front door, and none of them had detoured off into his bedroom, he saw Michael doing what appeared to be a victory dance while Melissa leaned on the bar, cradling her head in her hands in shame.

"Okay, someone wanna tell me what the hell you two have been up to all night?" he asked, the amusement evident in his voice as he watched Michael swivel his hips and shimmy back and forth.

Melissa moaned and heaved her head up long enough to catch sight of the dance, and then put her head back down. "I'll pick Steven up tomorrow and give him a ride home," she muttered through her hands. 

"You don't have to do that. He can call a cab," Norman replied, looking a bit flabbergasted that anyone would consider offering in the first place. 

She stood up and faced him squarely, forcing a smile. "Lost a bet," she said by way of explanation. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go wash the humiliation off my face." She stalked off toward the house, but Michael continued his celebratory moves even after she was gone. 

"What bet was that?" he asked. "And for the love of god, stop doing…  _that_ , whatever it's supposed to be."

Michael chuckled and stopped the gyrations. "Well, you see. She thought for sure that brunette would be spending the night here. I knew better."

Norman flinched at the revelation. Ever since their conversation earlier, he wasn't in the mood for his typical party antics. He'd spent the entire night spurning the interns in favor of enjoying the humorous end-of-season yarns and commiserations of his castmates. Occasionally he'd caught a glimpse of Melissa laughing, or more than a glimpse of her bare back in that damned blouse she'd worn. He'd slipped away in those moments, using the excuses of checking on Steven or wanting to spare the others his second-hand smoke, to remind himself to keep his head on straight. As far as he knew, he hadn't shown a single sign of interest in anybody sharing his bed. Yet she still assumed he would. Bet on it, even.

Michael saw the crestfallen expression on his face and reached over to the stereo, stopping the club mix playlist and programming in some other songs instead.

"Don't worry. I backed the right horse. And I'm gonna give you a little advice, brother, if you're willing to take it," Michael offered.

Norman eyed him suspiciously, but Michael ignored the look and stepped out from behind the bar. "Grow a pair and admit to yourself that there's something going on between you two. And then tell her, because you're worse than a couple of love-struck teenagers too afraid to ask each other behind the bleachers after school."

Norman started, "We're just -"

"- just friends. Got it," Michael interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You two want to let a chance like this slip by you, go right ahead. But if you do, you're a couple of dumbasses that don't deserve any better. And I happen to think you're both smarter than that." He patted Norman on the shoulder. "Don't prove me wrong." 

He walked toward Melissa as she came out the door and snatched her up in hug. "It's been a pleasure as always, darlin'. See you at the next con?"

She nodded and kissed his cheek, then swatted his ass as he walked by her toward the door. "Hell yes!" he yelped and kept walking, rubbing his behind as he left them alone.

"Classy," Norman teased from the barstool she'd vacated a few minutes earlier. 

"Guess you're rubbing off on me," she answered, leaning across him to grab her glass. She finished the last swig and set it down in front of her. "I should be heading out myself."

"You okay to drive?" he asked.

"Iced tea," she replied. "I switched not long after you put Steven to bed. He was a walking morality tale tonight. Or a stumbling one." 

"Yeah, he'd better hope he doesn't wake up until after I'm gone in the morning," Norman muttered.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Oh yeah. I've been meaning to thank you for defending my honor earlier," she offered a slight curtsy.

"Fuck honor. I wanted you all to myself," Norman replied with a devilish grin. He slung an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "But now that you mention it, just how are you gonna thank me?"

"Well, I'll be keeping my honor, so you can forget whatever that dirty little mind of yours is thinking," she replied, clearing his bangs away from his eyes.

"Guess I'll have to think of something else then," he said. He let his hand drift lower and she reached back and moved it back up to her waist.

"Uh uh uh. Ass-grabbing was a one-time thing," she reminded him.

"More like a four-time thing, but who's counting?" he smirked.

"Apparently you are," she noted with amusement.

"It's a beautiful experience. Makes it difficult for a man to forget," he informed her.

"Speaking of beautiful," she transitioned, "your photographs. They're lovely."

"Okay first of all, excellent attempt at a segue, but don't think I won't be steering the subject back to your ass in a minute. And second, thank you. I think you're the only one who appreciated them," he said.

She shook her head. "That's not true. Everybody was talking about how clever it was to set them up like that."

"They saw signs, yes," he conceded. "You saw photos. Which was your favorite?"

She thought for a second, weighing her decision. "I'm tempted to say the one with Carol's knife because I loved that thing so much. But I'd have to go with the graffiti… the giant 'THIS WAY OUT' painted on the building. What's the story behind that one?"

"That's mine, too," he smiled at her. "I need to show you the color version some time. The graffiti is so detailed the black and white doesn't do it justice. The guy who painted it, he was a gangbanger. He managed to get out, and now he runs an arts program for kids in his neighborhood, trying to keep them out of the life. I helped him out with some classes a while ago, but I wanna make a documentary next year to get him more exposure."

She leaned in kissed his cheek when he finished talking.

"What was that for?" he asked. "And what do I need to do to get another one?"

"For being you. Sometimes I forget you're not all about the job and partying. It's nice to be reminded," she replied, planting a kiss on the other cheek as well.

A hint of a smile played at her lips and her head was tilted just so, and the look on her face… that one that showed not just affection for him, but also a sense of pride in him. He'd seen it a handful of times over the years, sometimes after filming a difficult scene, once after she'd shared lunch with him and his son, but never often enough. It had been so long since she'd looked at him like that he'd forgotten how much he craved it. How addictive and incredible it felt when he saw it on her face. He stared back at her and realized that bastard Rooker was right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa is stuck in her head. And then she isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the wait on this. I hope it is worth your while. I found this chapter rather difficult to write, and it took me several rewrites to make sure the tone was what I'd envisioned. I've never written this type of content before, so please be kind.
> 
> I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude to Peta2 for beta reading this in bits and chunks and offering so much encouragement along the way. I wouldn't be brave enough to post it if it weren't for her, so if you enjoy the chapter, give her a shout. And I would also like to thank everyone who encouraged me in the shoutbox when I freaked out about writing racy stuff. You are all beautiful people!
> 
> One last note… authors sometimes have similar overlaps in stories. This chapter has a few. I assure you they are purely coincidental and I have spoken with the other authors and everything is good. It happens.
> 
> So, here you go. And I've never said this before, but *smut warning*. ;)

It was a flicker. The tiniest shift in his eyes. She wasn't sure what just happened, but in an instant something was different.

The conversation had been easy, flowing effortlessly as it always did. She felt comfortable - content, even - standing here against him. His arms loosely wrapped around her waist. Her hands tucked into the crooks of his elbows. And on those occasions where his flirtation and free-roaming hands made her feel a little warmer than usual, she'd accepted those gestures as they were meant to be taken. Affection, not intention. Because it was ridiculous, thinking otherwise.

But that flicker. She felt it as she saw it, fluttering through her comfort and leaving a lingering question in its wake. One she'd never let herself ask, let alone try to figure out the answer. And now the only two words in her head were "What if?" and every nerve in her body was anxiously humming.

She needed to leave. To clear her head and somehow put that genie of an idea back in its bottle.

"I should let you get some sleep or make-up will have my head tomorrow," she said, attempting to make a graceful exit so she could set her mind right without the distraction of those blue eyes fixed on hers.

"Nah, Daryl looks like shit in that scene. If I'm up all night, they'll be halfway done before they start," he told her. "Stay a little while. I won't get to see you again before I fly out and who knows when next time will be." He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink, then hovered over her glass, raising his eyebrows in question.

"It's only a few weeks," she answered, shaking her head to decline his offer. "Then there's publicity and…."

Norman slowly put the bottle down and reached over the bar, flipping a switch. The music faded away and the lights overhead dimmed into darkness, leaving only the moon to illuminate them. He lifted a single finger to his lips, asking her silence.

A low panic began to bloom in her chest. She couldn't imagine a sane reason for plunging them into some moonlit scenario other than… but he wouldn't do that. Still, she was about to demand an explanation when he gently turned her around and pointed toward the trees at the far end of the yard.

Three deer haltingly emerged and stood on alert, twitching noses searching for any sign of danger. After a few seconds, they continued into the yard and started grazing. He drew her back to his chest and put his arms around her once again. Melissa's panic fell away and she relaxed against him. It was innocent. Her imagination had run away with her.

"I wondered if they'd show up tonight," he whispered in her ear.

"You've seen them before?" she asked.

"A few times. They like the grass down in that corner, and I don't mind sharing."

She watched the deer nibble at the ground, occasionally stopping to smell the breeze and ensure it was still safe to be out in the open. Her mind began to drift to her own sense of safety. Norman's actions had never caused her to panic before, even with all the crazy stunts he pulled. But that look in his eyes earlier had thrown her off her bearings.

She tried to dismiss it, to focus on the raw beauty of nature before them. She took a deep, calming breath and he shifted, slipping a hand over hers and entwining their fingers, nuzzling against the side of her neck. He settled his other hand on her hip and thumbed lazy strokes along the curve of her waist, throwing her mind into chaos. Her skin flushed under his breath and she began to wonder what she might do if his lips brushed her neck, if his fingertips edged under the hem of her blouse and glided languidly across her skin.

"Amazing."

Her eyes flew open when he spoke. She hadn't even realized she'd closed them and berated herself for going down that road in her mind. It wasn't a possibility. She needed to pull herself together before she did something that would embarrass both of them.

"What? Oh… yes. They are," she stammered, trying to regain her senses.

"Are you falling asleep on me?" he asked. She wished she were tired but her indulgence of his need to constantly touch had heightened all her senses. Even the soft breeze felt like an assault.

"No," she replied. "I was… lost in thought."

"About what?"

_Dangerous things,_ she thought. She frantically searched for any far-flung answer but the only responses coming to mind were entirely too truthful.

"Just letting my mind wander," she finally answered, honest but vague.

He accepted her answer and she was never more grateful in her life that he didn't make a habit of prying.

_No more make-believe. Time to act your age,_  she lectured herself. Age. It certainly did play into her outlook on their dynamic. She had absolutely no problem with hers, but the age gap between Norman and his companions had been steadily increasing. She wasn't his type. And honestly, he wasn't hers. Not when his lifestyle centered on dating a different young model every few months or taking fans back to his hotel room after a con.

There were other times, though, when they talked for hours about everything and nothing, or when they laughed and flirted and confessed secrets after one too many drinks at the end of a long day. Times when he'd just hold her and be quiet and let her cry on his shoulder over weighty problems or trivial fluff, giving them equal bearing simply because she was upset and that was all that mattered to him. In those moments he was perfect for her.

And tonight. Tonight with their easy conversation and the way his body fit just right against hers and how he looked at her as though there were somehow more to all this. Tonight he was perfect for her. And maybe that was enough. Maybe all she really wanted was one perfect night with him. One night where she stopped overthinking every tiny detail and didn't give a damn about the consequences and just fucking  _felt_.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked.

The yard was empty. "They're gone." She didn't mean to say it out loud, but it was just audible enough that he heard it.

"Yeah. Are you sure you're not falling asleep on me?" he questioned her, his tone more amusement than disbelief.

"Thinking again," she replied quietly. "Too much."

"You've got to get out of your head or you're gonna miss all the good stuff."

His words hooked into her and she turned around and searched his eyes. And there it was, that possibility. Even in the moonlight she could see it. She was done thinking.

"You're right," she agreed.

She traced her fingers down his cheekbone, slowly trailing to his jaw, her eyes nervously locked on his. "I don't wanna miss any more," she said. His gaze dropped to her lips and his tongue flicked over his own. It was all the indication she needed and she slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. She was a slip away from him when she hesitated, her fears trying to claw their way back up from where she'd pushed them down. A few agonizing moments ticked by and she felt the warmth of his breath mixing with hers. He was waiting. Not pressuring or cajoling. Simply waiting for her to decide. And so she did.

She kissed him, tentatively, but as he responded to her she let go of her fears, pressing against him, growing more insistent as she allowed herself to feel the simmering heat spreading through her. She ran her tongue along his lips and he obliged, letting her explore his mouth before taking the same liberty with hers. He rose from the barstool and pulled her fully against him, shading her tongue with hints of whiskey and running his hands up her bare back, setting off an electric hum she couldn't shake even if she wanted to. A whimper escaped her throat and she retreated, breaking away to catch her breath.

It wasn't their first kiss, but it was the first that crossed the line. Now that she was on the other side, she wanted it all. Everything he could give her. She hungered for his hands on every inch of her, his mouth on her skin. Ached to feel his heat against her thighs as she wrapped herself around him and drew him in.

His hand caught beneath her jaw and he waited for her eyes to meet his. "Are you sure?" he asked, offering her an exit before things went too far to turn back. "If we did anything to mess this up… to mess  _us_  up, I wouldn't be able to stand it."

The concern reflecting in the blue of his eyes cut right through her. His desire to keep their relationship intact, to stop and go back to where they were a minute ago, spurred her forward. Wherever this went after tonight - friends, more - they were solid. "I'm sure," she nodded. "I want to."

He blinked, an almost pained expression crossing his face for a fleeting moment before he took a breath and studied her face. Her pulse raced as she began to crash back to reality. She wasn't his type. He offered her an out hoping she'd take it and be the bad guy so he didn't have to hurt her. She needed to let him off the hook, regain the sanity she'd lost somewhere in his gaze. "If you don't want this, I underst-"

Any doubt of what he wanted was extinguished before she could finish her sentence. His lips seared against hers and his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, caressing her neck, stroking up her back, teasing across her stomach. He backed her slowly across the deck, luring her into submission with his tongue and his touch. Her fingers traced along his arms, tracking over each rise and dip of muscle up to his shoulders, and she wondered how the hell she resisted the urge to do that before tonight. She slid her hands back down his chest and grasped at his shirt, dragging it up until she could feel his skin beneath her fingers, eliciting a low growl.

He broke away from her long enough to yank the shirt off and toss it aside, then resumed his onslaught of sucking at her lips and sliding his tongue over hers. His body drove her backwards once again and she felt his hand sweep up behind her head, cushioning it as they slammed against the kitchen door. The shock of the cool glass contrasted deliciously with his mouth, which promptly abandoned hers and moved to her neck.

Melissa wasn't entirely sure she was breathing when he dipped low and inched her skirt up, dragging his hand along the outside of her calf past her knee. His hand slid behind her thigh and lifted, bringing her leg up around his waist as he thrust against her. He caught her moan with his mouth and rocked against her at an agonizingly slow pace, his tongue matching the tantalizing rhythm.

Her clarity was flying away from her, and she struggled to regain herself. The pleasure of him pressed against her collided with the years of restraint, years of talking but not doing, of touching but not acting, and a greedy lust burst wide open inside her. She found herself on the edge, so close to ecstasy she became more desperate for him with each touch, clinging to him as though he may somehow disappear, despite his body crushing against hers.

She dug one hand into his shoulder and wedged the other between them, fumbling with his belt, managing to unbuckle it on her third try. Her usual grace was failing her, but the button of his jeans was an easier accomplishment and she'd moved to his zipper when he stopped his rhythm and reached down and took her wrist.

"Not so fast. I wanna take my time with you," he breathed into her ear, nipping the lobe and licking his way back down her neck and across to the other side. He released her wrist and trailed tiny kisses along her jaw, testing her patience. She slid her hand along his back, letting it drop lower until she had a firm grip on his ass.

"We've taken years," she whispered and then yanked him toward her, grinding herself against him, making him groan at the unexpected pleasure. She slid her hand around his hip and stroked up his erection, grasping his zipper again and sliding it down.

She slipped her hand into his boxers and gripped him lightly, running down his shaft and back up again, then pulled her hand away and pushed against his chest. "No more waiting," she said breathlessly and steered him to the oak slab bench running along the windows. His eyes widened in surprise but he didn't object when she pulled his jeans and boxers down and pushed him onto the bench. He kicked off his shoes and pulled them the rest of the way off, never taking his eyes off her while she shed her blouse and the sticky contraption of a backless bra she'd opted for in a fit of now-forgotten modesty.

It was only seconds but it felt like days had passed since she'd touched him. The zipper of her skirt caught in the material in her haste to remove it and she swore softly, bringing a grin to his face. She may have found that grin endearing under less frustrating circumstances, but at the moment it was irritating and fueled her annoyance with her clothing. The skirt continued to resist and she gave up the struggle, her need to press against him getting the better of her, and slipped her hands under her skirt and tugged her satin panties off. His grin softened and he leaned forward, taking her hand and pulling her toward him. He rested his hands on her hips and looked up at her, calm and still, so unlike his usual frenetic manner she felt an uncertain twinge in her chest.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"No," he shook his head and smiled at her. "I just wanna remember this."

Her breath stopped. Whatever answer she'd been expecting, he'd just given her one out of left field. His eyes finally broke from hers and he moved over her zipper, freeing the caught material and sliding it the rest of the way down. He looked back up at her and waited. She fought the tremble that was building in her core and reminded herself to breathe, giving him a slight nod. Her skirt tumbled over her hips to the deck.

She was exposed, but looking at him now she felt completely safe. He held her gaze and kissed the soft curve of flesh below her navel. She reached out and smoothed his hair off his face, pulling back from him so she could bend and kiss him. Their kiss deepened and she maneuvered herself over him, straddling his lap, lining him up with her entrance, and gave in to her unspoken question.

She glided down him slowly, savoring the sweet ache of pleasure as he filled her. Her muscles quivered around him and she broke away from his mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut, taking in measured breaths, determined to maintain some shred of control over her body.

She felt him cradle her jaw. "Mel?" Her eyes flitted open and met his, tranquil, pacific as the ocean that bore the name. She grounded herself in their peacefulness and swayed against him, matching his steady breathing, weaving her hands through his hair. Thrilling ripples flowed through her and she kissed him lightly, reassuring him that she was fine. They held each other close as she moved on top of him, breathing the same air, lips grazing.

The intimacy worked its way through the chinks in her armor, tugging at her heart in the spots she reserved for closer bonds. Bonds more permanent than a one-night scenario. The vulnerability was unexpected, but more curious was her nagging suspicion that perhaps she welcomed it.

His hand slipped down her neck and traced along her collarbone, dipping lower when he reached her throat. His fingers glided across the top of her breast, followed the swell down the side. When his thumb brushed her peaked nipple she leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing his name, wondering if maybe she was home in her own bed, dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time her dreams had granted her the pleasure of his body. But her dreams never offered her the heady scent of him, or the goose bumps rising on her skin when the night breeze swept over the thin sheen of sweat building there. They never gave her the intense sensation that jolted through her when his thumb gave way to his mouth.

She felt herself close to the edge again. His tongue was driving her mad and she quickened her pace, heeding the selfish urge to tumble right over it.

"Mel," he warned, "if you keep that up I'm-"

"Yes," she interrupted, barely able to whisper. "Yes. Come with me."

He skimmed his fingers down her belly, past her navel, delving lower until her found her clit. The feathery strokes pushed her past her breaking point and she shuddered against him, bliss ricocheting through her body as she felt him hitch upward through his own release.

She collapsed against him, clinging to his neck and shoulders, gasping for air. The trembling in her legs wouldn't stop and tiny pangs of aftershocks made it difficult to steady herself. He wrapped her tightly in his arms, kissed her temple, murmured against her ear. She discerned a few words like "long time" and "so beautiful" but the rest were lost in a haze.

The breeze kicked up and though she shivered against it, she was grateful for the clarity the cool air provided her. Her posture relaxed and then it started to sink in, what they'd just done. She couldn't help but wonder about the space between them, how it would be filled now that the fervor had passed and taken their walls with it, leaving them wide open with no illusions or barriers to hide behind. She didn't know if those walls could be rebuilt, or if that was even what she wanted at all. All she knew for sure was that her question of "What if?" was answered with several more complex ones, and her head began to swim with conjecture and possibilities and ways to prevent either one of them from getting hurt.

Norman kissed her then, long and tender and sweet. The noise in her head went silent with the warmth of his mouth on hers. When they parted he cupped her chin, brushing his thumb gently along her lower lip. "Let's get you inside before you freeze to death," he suggested.

She smiled at him and nodded, and he supported her as she lifted herself off him, legs still shaky. She was considering skipping the clothing altogether and simply running inside to clean up when a loud buzzing came from the pile of clothes behind her.

"Better be damn important if someone's calling me now," he muttered, reaching for his pants pocket but not quite able to reach while sitting down. "Little help?" he asked, grinning at his own post-coital laziness. Melissa pulled the phone out of his pocket and was immediately mortified that the caller ID photo had been facing her when she did. She handed him the phone and searched for her own clothes in the pile, failing rather spectacularly to wipe the image of perky young boobs and the letter  _C_  from her brain, despite her best efforts. She felt sick to her stomach that the supposed off-again relationship was apparently still on.

Norman clicked the Ignore button and set the phone beside him on the bench, where it promptly started buzzing again. Her back was to him now, but she heard him fumble around and silence it again.

"Aren't you going to get that?" she asked, now slinging her blouse over her head as quickly as possible.

"No," he answered. She could almost feel his stare as she pulled on her panties and reached for her skirt. "Mel? Will you stop for a minute?"

"It's fine," she replied sharply. "I know what this was."

"Do you? Because I don't," he admitted.

The anger hit her and she took a deep breath before turning to face him, not wanting him to know just how far she'd let him in before the phone's buzz shook her out of her illusion.

"Don't do that," she said, her jaw clenched a bit tighter than she'd like. "Don't play games with me."

"I'm not playing anything," he said adamantly. The phone started buzzing again and he swore and switched it off altogether.

"It's probably not a good idea to ignore your girlfriend when she calls in the middle of the night," she advised icily.

"She's not my girlfriend," he answered. "Hasn't been for a long time. Not since summer."

Melissa was confused. It had been a matter of days since he was photographed holding hands with the beaming beauty on the red carpet. When she'd teased him about the interns not seeming to mind that fact earlier in the evening, he'd assured her that an argument before he returned to Georgia had ended it, for good. He'd even looked a bit regretful. Either he was lying then or he was lying now. She felt sick again.

"Things aren't always what they seem," he explained.

Her brow furrowed. "Then what was that little show you put you on for the press last weekend?" She couldn't imagine him upsetting his die-hard fans with news he was off the market just for kicks.

His eyes dropped away from her and he sighed. "That," he confessed, "was penance."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman tells Melissa the story behind the red carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

He couldn't stand the pain. A minute ago she was glowing, her gorgeous blue eyes luminous and soft. Then his ex called and the hurt that filled them cut him to the bone. Norman didn't blame her for jumping to the wrong conclusion and thinking he was still entangled with the model. The wrong conclusion was exactly what he'd planned a few days ago and he needed to explain. He got up from the bench and found his pants, hoping when he focused on her again the wounded look would have somehow magically disappeared. No such luck graced him.

"Penance for what?" Melissa asked, taking a step back when he moved toward her.  _Shit._  He glanced down at the dwindling pile of clothing and spotted his shirt.

"For being an asshole," he answered, pulling the V-neck on. "It's something I'm pretty good at."

The crossed arms and expectant expression told him he wasn't getting off the hook as easily as he'd hoped. "I called her the wrong name," he explained.

"That's it?" she asked. He thought she looked adorable with her brow all furrowed, but he didn't dare smile right now. He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge, knowing he damn well better not be smiling when he said what was coming next.

"In bed. I called her the wrong name in bed," he continued and ran a hand through his hair. "It was her roommate's name."

Melissa swallowed hard, closing her eyes. He welcomed the respite from seeing the misery until she opened them again and stared at the bench, her feet, anywhere but his face. As much as he loathed confrontation, anything was better than running straight into a solid wall of avoidance.

"We'd broken up again and I ran into her roommate at a party and it doesn't really fucking matter because I shouldn't have done it. I know that. I was pissed at her so I did, but I regretted it. I still regret it. Right now more than ever."

His gut started to tighten, seeing her fingers dig into her arm until they were white, watching her shallow uneven breathing. She should be looking at him again, glaring maybe, but she studied the deck instead. He needed to get this all out as fast as he could so he could make her understand, make her see that he learned his lesson and he didn't pull stunts like that anymore.

"When we got back together, it happened and she dumped me on the spot. A couple days later she called and asked me to make it up to her and I thought I owed her. I knew I did," he admitted.

"She knew some agencies were gonna be looking at her in a few months, so I agreed to do a red carpet with her when they were. Hold her hand, make everyone think we were dating again. It would boost her name and get her some publicity. That's what last weekend was. Penance."

Melissa still wouldn't look at him. "You lied to me."

"I'm sorry, Mel. I told everyone that, the whole world. I never wanted to lie to you. I only did it to make up for being a prick. I'm not proud of myself."

She raised her eyes and now that she was looking at him again, he wished she weren't. "Not then. Earlier. You lied to me… just me. You told me you had a fight before you came back here and that’s why it was over."

"It wasn't a lie, really. I just didn't say that the time we fought was a while ago. Or what the fight was about," he tried hopefully, but acquiesced when her stare hardened.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Why what? Which thing?" It was his turn to be confused.

"Why did you do it?" she continued, her voice getting louder. "Why did you fuck me? I need to know, Norman. Why is it you can't keep your dick in your pants for five minutes? Now I'm another notch on your bedpost. One of your… your whores." She flinched at the word and tears started streaming down her face. "Why didn't you say no? Why the fuck can't you ever say no?"

He couldn't think, let alone speak, to stop her as she hurried past him to the door. It slammed shut behind her and snapped him out of his shock. He flung it open and ran after her, catching up to her as she went out the front door.

"Mel, stop! Please stop. It's not like that." He reached for her shoulder and she spun out of his hand.

" _Don't_  touch me," she hissed. He'd never seen her so angry. In fact, he'd never seen her angry at all. Annoyed sometimes, but never full-on anger. He needed to fix this, fast. His mind raced and he ran in front of her, blocking her way to her car.

"Give me five minutes, Mel. Just five minutes. Come back inside. We can talk about this," he pleaded.

She tried to sidestep him but he moved in front of her again, careful not to touch her.

"Let me go," she said icily.

"Please, Mel. It's not like that with you. You're not some notch or fling or.... I know I'm just some asshole who usually does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and screw the consequences, but not with you. Never with you. Please. Come back inside. I feel sick about all this."

"That makes two of us," she replied and stepped around him again. He let her pass but followed close behind her.

"Mel… Melissa, please. I'm begging you. Don't leave. Not like this."

She unlocked the car door and climbed in. The engine turned over and she put it in drive but kept her foot on the brake. His heart leapt with hope when she put it back in park. If he could convince her to stay and talk, he could show her how he felt, how she wasn't some convenient plaything he'd use up and throw away.

She kept staring straight ahead but cracked the window. "Mel-"

"Shut up," she whispered. He went mute. She took a few deep breaths before saying what was on her mind. "It's not your fault. I knew better and I did it anyway. I convinced myself that it would all be fine, we'd be fine because this was different. It meant something. I wanted to believe that." She finally turned toward him. "I don't want you to think I'm angry with you because I'm not. I blame myself."

She put the window back up and threw the car into drive again, ignoring his fists pounding against the glass. The car disappeared around a bend and he stood there, watching, waiting to see if she'd turn around and come back and he could somehow fix whatever the hell had gone wrong.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there when the front door opened behind him.

"You okay, man?" Steven asked hesitantly. "You're standing in your driveway barefoot."

Norman turned around and slouched past him. "Mel's gonna pick you up in a few hours and give you a ride home."

"She is? Oh, okay. Sweet of her," Steven replied. He closed the door behind them.

"She lost a bet, jackass," Norman told him and headed toward his bedroom.

Steven shrugged. "Never pays to gamble, I guess. You always lose," he replied.

"Theme of the night," Norman mumbled and closed his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, writing this upset me. I'd sketched out this conversation to go in a completely different direction, and when I wrote it, this came out instead.
> 
> And of course, a lovely thank you to Peta2 for suffering through it a few times while beta reading. She's a trooper.
> 
> I'd also like to note that I loathe the word "whore", especially in this context. I personally feel that single, consenting adults should do whatever they please and not be judged for it, so it was difficult for me to use it here. Obviously I can't speak for the real person, but it's my headcanon that this fictional version of MMB also loathes the word/connotation and said it only because she was in pain.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa has some unexpected conversations while Norman travels to Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through that last part. I know it wasn't easy. Yet another shout out to Peta2 for her brilliance.

The early morning sun was blinding in her rearview mirror. Melissa flipped it up, making it slightly more tolerable, and focused on the road. She hadn't slept, tossing and turning and reliving the hours before on a non-stop loop in her head. After a shower and a lot of concealer, she figured she looked good enough to shuttle Steven. He probably wouldn't even notice her bloodshot eyes through the hangover he was bound to be suffering.

She pulled into the driveway and parked, inhaled deeply, and put on her friendliest, most compassionate face. The door was unlocked, so she tiptoed in, trying to keep the noise to a minimum in deference to Steven's compromised physical state. The photos from the party were still up and she paused in front of the one she liked best.  _THIS WAY OUT_. Her heart sank. She didn't think the sign could be any clearer.

Steven was sitting in the kitchen, eating a banana and petting the sleek black cat flumped in his lap. "Oh, hey! Thanks for the ride," he said, looking none worse for wear. His cheeks went a bit pink and he lowered the protesting cat to the floor and grabbed his jacket, tossing the peel in the trash.

"You're welcome," she replied, cocking her head to the side and trying to figure out exactly how he could be so awake and vibrant after last night. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I don't get hangovers. It's kinda my superpower," he explained. "Ready to go?" He strolled past her, barely meeting her eye, and was halfway in her car before she flipped the knob lock and closed the front door.

They drove quietly for few miles and Melissa was grateful for it. She wasn't up for making conversation, even with someone whose company was always more than welcome. The trees started thinning, pockets of housing developments breaking up the scenery, when Steven cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"Um, Mel… did I…" he stammered. "Did I try to kiss you last night?"

She glanced over at him as he focused intently on the glove compartment latch, opening and closing it over and over until she reached across and flipped it shut. His face was redder than she'd ever seen, even more so than when the crew teased him after the first sex scene he'd filmed with Lauren.

"Yes, you did," she answered, unable to suppress a smile.

"Oh, god. I am so sorry," he apologized. "I can't believe I… well, yeah I can because look at you, but still. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. If it had been up to me, I might have let you," she said lightly and winked, letting him off the hook. She'd always had a soft spot for him, and the incident had only made it softer.

"Thanks, Mel," he replied, breathing a little easier as his cheeks started returning to their normal hue. "The details are still a little fuzzy, but you didn't seem to be nearly as bothered as Norm," he added, stealing a glance at her before eyeing the glove compartment again.

She opened her mouth to reply and quickly closed it again when she realized she had no idea what to say. They stopped at a red light, giving her a chance to think, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about him. He's just overprotective. You two will be okay," she said. The light turned green and she started driving again, the endless strip malls and fast food restaurants of the suburbs sprouting up alongside them.

"I know, but will the two of you?" he asked.

She wasn’t sure where the question had come from. "Of course," she laughed nervously. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Steven cleared his throat and chewed at his bottom lip.

"Steven?" she prodded. He was making her anxious and her concentration was already shot from sleep deprivation. She spotted a coffee shop and pulled into the parking lot. Caffeine would be a big help.

"I saw you," he finally answered. "Last night. I woke up and I was thirsty so I went out to the kitchen and I s-saw you… and Norman… together."

She slammed on the brakes, completely mortified by his admission. A horn blared behind her and she startled, waved an apology and swung the car into the closest spot she could find.

"What did you just say?" she asked, unable to meet his eye.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just wanted some water," he stammered.

"Oh my god, you saw us? Naked? And…" she couldn't finish the question.

"No! No, you had clothes on!" he assured her. She felt a little relieved until he added, "But you were kinda… kissing… and then… I-I just got the hell out of there as fast as I could." His face was burning again, but she was certain it couldn't have been redder than her own.

"I never would have said anything," he continued, "but I'm… well, I’m worried about you. And him."

"Why?" she asked, still stunned that he'd witnessed the intimate moment.

"I heard you leave. Well, I heard a door slam. I had my earbuds in, listening to music so I wouldn't hear… you know. After a while, I figured it was safe to go to the kitchen, but when I did, I saw Norm outside. He was just standing there, looking down the road," he explained.

Her throat tightened and she fought back the sting in her eyes. She wasn't going to cry again. Not now. She blinked a few times before asking, "He was?"

"Yeah. He'd been out there a while. Then you showed up this morning with your eyes all red, and… I love you guys. I want you to be okay and I don't think you are."

A tear slid down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold it together. She looked over at him and squeezed his hand. "I love you, too." She nodded then, shaking off the heaviness that had sunk into her while he talked. "We'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked, remaining unconvinced.

"It'll be okay. Don't worry," she answered, wiping the wayward tear from her cheek. She got out of the car and tried to convince herself of the same thing.

* * *

Sushi, saké, Sean. Norman had hoped the three could get his mind off Melissa. He loved visiting Japan, loved being able to spend time engaging with mobs of enthusiastic fans alongside the man he considered a brother, but the spectacle had lost its shine. He was good enough at faking it for the crowds, but late at night, after the parties and bars and throngs of giggling women were gone, he was thankful for the quiet of his hotel room.

He thought about calling her, but every time he sat down to do it, his mind went blank. It killed him that she thought she was just some quick lay, someone to pass the time with before he moved on to the next one. All those things he'd confessed afterward, how he'd wanted that level of closeness for a long time, how beautiful it was to share that with her… she didn't believe any of it once she found out the reason for his break up.

Tonight's party had been particularly crazy. Tokyo had a reputation for wild nightlife, and he'd witnessed some things he was pretty certain he'd never be able to wipe from his memory. He managed to beg off sticking around with the excuse of some interviews in the morning and found himself sitting on his bed, staring at her name on his phone screen. If he just clicked that button, he'd hear her voice. And then what would he say? What could he say that he already hadn't?

He hit the home button instead, posted a few pics to Instagram and tossed his phone on the nightstand. Maybe tomorrow he'd know what to do.

* * *

Melissa swore as the boiling water splashed from the kettle onto her hand when she'd jumped in surprise. Her phone continued to buzz on the counter and she heard Joan Osborne's "Right Hand Man" playing while she ran cool water over the burn, trying to minimize the damage. She giggled at the ringtone the caller had surreptitiously programmed into her phone and reached for it with her free hand.

"Hello, handsome," she cooed.

"Hey, darlin'," a husky voice rumbled in her ear. "Just callin' to see how your drive went last week. Lightweight behave himself or was he all lips again?"

She laughed and turned off the water. Nothing eased her pain quite like a conversation with Michael.

"Perfect gentleman, I'm afraid," she replied.

"Well, maybe next time. You can't win 'em all," he said. "Hey, I'm gonna be in town this weekend. Can I talk you into dinner? Followed by some shots of that fine Kentucky bourbon you're so fond of?"

"Hmmm, I might be free. What's in it for me?" she asked.

"Now, darlin', you know I always show you a good time," he replied.

"That's true, I suppose."

"So, that's a yes?" he prompted.

"Yes, but you're taking me somewhere nice, not some dive bar," she informed him. "I need a little pampering."

"Only the best for my sweet Melissa," he agreed. "You doin' alright?"

"Well enough," she answered. When he didn't respond right away, her brain picked up on the ulterior motive at play.

"You talked to Norman?" she asked, the humor gone from her voice.

He sighed into the phone. "Nah, that guy's tightlipped as ever. It was Lightweight. He's worried about you. Thought I might be able to help."

She shook her head. She adored him, but she was going to throttle Steven next time she saw him. "I appreciate the concern, but my sex life is not a topic of discussion for either one of you. Got it?"

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I am. I wasn't plannin' on bringin' it up," he apologized. "At least not 'til I had a few drinks in you."

"I admire your honesty, believe me, but forget it. Oh, and you're taking me somewhere really nice now. Somewhere with a wait list at least two months' out. Pull some strings. Make it happen, whatever it takes."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "I swear I won't bring it up again, but-"

"Michael," she warned through clenched teeth.

"Bear with me now, please, darlin'. I don’t know what happened, but whatever that jackass did, I know he didn't mean to hurt you. The idiot's crazy 'bout you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she said, thinking about the deluge of tweets and pics he'd been posting while abroad. He seemed to be having a great time, not a care in the world, including her.

"I'm sure. Just like I was sure about that brunette. Trust me."

"I don't hand out my trust so easily these days," she said. The sadness behind the words hit her before she finished the sentence. She couldn't trust Norman, not like she did before they went and made everything complicated and painful. She used to trust him completely, leaning on him, telling him things she wouldn't tell anyone else because she knew he understood her. He got her. He'd done the same with her. And now she was feeling this terrible ache, and she'd lost the person she wanted to talk to most about it.

"That's what he did? He broke your trust?" Michael's voice intruded into her thoughts.

"He lied to me," she answered. "That's part of it."

"Lied to you? To get in your pants? I'm gonna rip his balls off," he huffed.

"Not to get in my pants. No… ball-ripping -" she couldn't help but wince while saying those words "- necessary," she assured him.

She confided the basics of what happened to put this conversation to rest once and for all.

"So, he lied to you about how he was a moron and she dumped him," he said when she finished. "Now you don't trust him," he added.

"No, I don't. I can't."

"Okay. I get that," he said, "but can I play devil's advocate here for a minute?"

" _One_  minute," she said, starting to grow impatient. This was never a conversation she wanted to have in the first place and she was growing wearier of it by the second.

"He really fucked up with what's her name. I'll give you that. Doesn't make for a lot of confidence in the guy. But he did that to her, right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She wasn't sure where this was going, but she was starting to feel defensive.

"Besides lying about that, which I agree is bad enough, but besides that… I'm talking about you now, not anyone else. What did he do?"

She thought back over everything, every interaction from the day she first met him to the moment she drove away in tears. The ache she'd felt earlier splintered sharply through her chest when she realized she could only come up with one answer.

"Everything I've ever asked him to do."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa and Norman talk for the first time since that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This chapter took some time. Thanks for being patient! Huge props to Peta2 for beta reading it twice because of all the rewrites. It's finally where I want it, so I hope you enjoy it.

"Well, that's our show. Thank you for joining us!" the host signed off. Norman waited for the red light on top of the camera to blink off before getting out of his chair. After some autographs and a few quick pictures with some of the crew, he emerged from the studio. Despite the Ray-Bans, he had to squint against the afternoon sun as he climbed into the back of the car waiting to take him to the airport.

Once the darkened windows shielded his eyes, he stowed the glasses and glanced around as they drove, taking in the sights one last time before leaving Japan and heading home. It had been great to share this place with Sean, Andy and Greg, but he was happy he'd be back in the states soon. He hadn't hugged his kid in a month, and even though it would still be a few days before that happened, he was glad to be on his way. He considered texting the teen and pulled out his phone before he remembered it was 2:30am in New York.

A cacophony of buzzing and beeping informed him he'd gained a slew of new followers on various social media sites in the last hour, likely stemming from the live interview he'd just done, along with a new text message. Ignoring the follow notifications, he thumbed to the text. Her name made his heart beat faster and he tapped through to read it.

 

_Hey, can we talk? It's_

_okay to say no._

 

He couldn't help but smile at the way Melissa always texted in complete sentences, flat-out refusing to use shorthand, even though it took at least twice as long to communicate. He adored that stubborn streak. Truthfully, he adored pretty much everything about her. Right now he most adored that she'd broken the ice between them when he couldn't figure out how to do it himself.

 

_yes_

_want to talk_

_call you?_

 

He stared at the phone, nervously tapping his fingers against the side. She'd texted forty minutes ago and had probably already given up on an answer. A sudden urge for nicotine kicked in and he tossed the phone onto the seat beside him and patted his pockets, digging out a new pack and his lighter. The cigarette had just caught the flame when the phone beeped beside him. He flipped the lighter shut and read her response.

 

_I was hoping to talk in_

_person. Andy said you're_

_on your way home. Are you_

_flying into Atlanta or NYC?_

 

_ATL_

 

_Stop by when you land?_

 

_landing late_

_1am_

_next day?_

 

_I'll be awake._

 

_ok_

_sending flight info_

 

_Thank you._

_Safe flight._

 

_thx_

 

He forwarded his itinerary, then cracked the window to clear some of the smoke from the car. They were nearing the airport and he looked up at the hulking jumbo jets banking sharply as they climbed into the sky. In a few hours he'd be on one of those jets, and in 24, he'd see her face to face. By some stroke of luck, he was getting a chance to explain everything to her, to tell her how much she meant to him.

He tapped his phone and read the texts again, and for the first time since she'd left him standing dazed in his driveway, he felt hope.

 

* * *

 

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the devastated look he'd worn when she told him she blamed herself. Her words had been cruel, accusing him of using her for a cheap thrill, of being ready to toss her aside the minute the phone rang. She was the one who initiated the encounter, had gone into the act thinking only of the moment, and when it was over she convinced herself to doubt his motives more than her own.

It took Michael's question to even get her to consider her part in it. True to his word, he didn't bring it up over dinner, but she'd almost wished he had when days later she was still feeling lonely and confused about the whole situation. And when she finally realized why she'd reacted so strongly to Norman's break up, she accepted the guilt that crept into her chest to keep her company.

Now she lay in bed, unable to sleep, hoping he would agree to talk to her so they could work past the conversation that had ripped them apart. It dominated her mind, but he didn't seem to be giving it a second thought. She scrolled through his photos online, all smiles and pranks and life of the party images from his overseas tour. Typical Norman. The only thing different about him was that when she texted, it went unanswered.

She pulled the comforter higher and flipped to her side, much to the displeasure of the cat resting against her knees, and decided to let her mind wander where it would. Maybe if she let the misery swirl in her head she could exhaust herself and finally get some much-needed sleep.

Her eyelids were finally growing heavy when her phone vibrated on the nightstand.  _yes. want to talk. call you?_  Relief replaced the breath she'd been holding as she read the text. Maybe she could make things right again.

She replied and worked out the details, prodding him to meet with her sooner rather than later, then read through his itinerary, memorizing the flight number so she could track it in case of delays. A loud meow of protest sounded when she tossed the comforter aside and made her way to the kitchen to make coffee. Every tangled up nerve in her body told her sleep would elude her, so she got a very early jump on the day.

By lunchtime she was punchy and succumbed to the temptation of her bed. It wasn't like her to nap in the middle of the afternoon, but she didn't want to risk being even more emotional than she already was when she saw Norman in a few hours.

She thought her remote control was ringing and tried to silence it, but the buttons kept shifting beneath her fingers. It wasn't until she heard Gale's voice that she shook awake to find her phone resting in her hand.

"Hi, Gale. What's going on?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"You are," the executive producer answered. "You've been added to the slate for Conan."

Melissa's head started spinning. "Me? But I-"

"The fans want to see you, Mel. You'd better get used to it. Once the rest of this season airs, your visibility is going to go through the roof. We'll send the logistics over later today. Get ready to shine!"

"Thanks, Gale," she said and hung up. Publicity was nerve-wracking, but the knot in her stomach could only be credited to the joint appearance. She thought she'd have more time to try to patch things up with Norman, but now they were going to be in the national spotlight together in a matter of days.

Feeling a bit of déjà vu, she threw the comforter off and padded to the kitchen, put on some water and considered which acting methods would best stand up to high definition if tonight didn't go well.

 

* * *

 

Lincoln's sudden bark made her flinch. Melissa patted him to calm him down, whispering some praise, and then forced herself toward the door to answer the bell. She peered through the peephole, wondering if perhaps it was a delivery or a neighbor stopping by to chat, even though the idea of that occurring in the middle of the night was absurd. The view through the fisheye lens was exactly why she'd been anxiously pacing for the last two hours. Her heart was in her throat when she turned the knob.

"Thanks for coming. You must be tired," she said warmly, managing to keep an uneasy tremble out of her voice. She stepped aside so Norman could enter and Lincoln ran up to him, wagging and drooling and being his general amiable self.

"Slept on the plane. Hey, boy!" Norman greeted him, kneeling down to give a little love to the basset hound. She was grateful the dog alleviated a bit of the awkwardness. This was not going to be an easy visit, but having the four-legged ambassador around made it a bit more diplomatic.

"Something to drink? There's coffee. I can make it Irish if you prefer," she offered. Hers was definitely going to be Irish. She was somewhat regretting not having a nip of the strong stuff earlier, but she'd wanted a clear head when he arrived.

"Sure. Irish sounds good," he answered from below, still scratching Linc's jowls, even though his eyes were fixed on her. She told herself to turn around, walk to the kitchen, but the calm blue tugged at the loose threads of her heart. She was afraid to move for fear of unraveling right there in front of him.

Norman stood and faced her, leaving the dog whining at his feet. "Mel, I-"

"Not yet," she panicked and cut him off. "I'm not… We'll talk, I promise. Just… give me a minute. Please."

"Okay," he nodded. He chewed at his lip, starting to fidget under the stare she couldn't bring herself to break off. He was right in front of her, waiting to listen, and the words she'd so carefully planned to say evaporated. The urge to tell him everything at once, to spill all her secret fears, bubbled up and it took all her effort to push it back down.

This wasn't like before, when she could show him her vulnerability and he'd hold her close, whispering assurances in her ear. She couldn't ask for the support he'd always given her, not now. Not after she'd pushed him away. She thought she'd run out of tears, but her eyes stung with the salt of a fresh wave.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he said and reached out, taking her hand and running his thumb along her wrist. "We'll work this out."

The gesture and kind words took her by surprise. Before she could think she threw her arms around him, grasping fistfuls of his shirt and when she felt his arms surround her, pull her closer, the tears streaked down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she choked out.

He pulled her tighter, rocking her and breathing softly against her temple. She clung to his familiar warmth, trying to commit the feeling of his embrace to memory, terrified it would be the last chance she'd have. "It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay," he said and kissed her forehead.

He loosened his hold, steering her toward the couch. When they sat he drew her against him again, letting her cry against his chest, running his hands along her back and arm, trailing his fingers through her hair.

"I said such horrible things," she uttered between sobs.

"I did some pretty horrible things," he answered.

"No," she said. "Not to me. You've been good to me, and I haven't been to you."

"What are you talking about? Of course you have."

It was easier to explain when she wasn't looking in his eyes. She was ashamed of her actions, but he continued to soothe her, giving her more than she deserved, making her feel she could tell him anything.

"All those times you confided in me," she said, "every time you talked about your relationships… I didn't just listen, Norman. Each time you made a mistake, I held it against you. You've listened to me a hundred times and never judged me, but I… I kept some sort of sick tally.

"Then when your ex called, it all came flooding back. All I could think about were those missteps. I thought I couldn't trust you, and I assumed…" She trailed off, unable to bring herself to repeat the terrible words she'd said a month ago.

He sighed and tilted her chin upward, bringing her gaze to his. "I don't blame you for thinking that. If I hadn't-"

"I shouldn't have run out on you like that. I'm sorry," she said.

"Stop it. Look, I've done a lot of shitty things and you heard all about them. I get it." He took a deep breath and continued, "But it wasn't like that with you, Mel. It wasn't like that at all."

"I know," she said and laid her head back on his chest. Her tears began to slow, the occasional shudder rolling through her as she relaxed into him. She whispered apologies against the silk of his shirt and felt his comfort slowly seeping into her, filling in the cracks and voids left in the wake of the words she had carelessly flung at him.

He kissed the top of her head and she shifted against him, letting herself sink into his presence, to the knowledge that he was here with her and they were working through this. They could make things right again. With a twitch she drifted, giving in as the sleep she'd been losing overtook her.

 

* * *

 

"Mel?" he asked when her breathing evened into a steady rhythm. He peered down and smiled at her sleeping figure tucked up against him. He slid the blanket off the top of the couch and managed to cover her without waking her, settling them into the corner of the couch so they'd both be more comfortable.

Emotional comfort was harder to come by. She hadn't trusted him. Hell, with his track record, he wouldn't have trusted himself. He hadn't always been that way, but there was no denying that the last couple of years had been an exercise in compulsion. How she managed to separate that from their night together, he didn't know, but he was grateful for it. He had the chance to prove to her that she was different, that he'd never treat her like that.

He glanced around at her place, thinking about the night he'd nearly kissed her while they rehearsed. They'd slept in the same position, on the same couch. The memory sparked and burned and he thought of everything they'd been through together since. All the bonding and fun times. All the shirts she'd ruined by crying on them.

He chuckled and looked down at the latest victim, marked by a wet, dark purple splotch spread across his heart, and suddenly the pieces shifted and lined up. Everything went back to that night, the whole jumbled mess.

He wasn't sure what would happen between them, but he knew exactly what he needed to tell her when she woke up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman leaves Melissa with a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Peta2 for beta reading!

_Tap tap tap._ Norman watched the woodpecker searching for breakfast in the tree outside the window. The bird had chased off a skittish squirrel a few minutes ago and he was reminded of how much he loved his work and how lucky he was to have this life. He'd worked hard to get where he was, but so did a lot of other people who hadn't reached this level of success. Hell, he'd been one of those people at several points in his career, almost ready to give up and settle for something less than he wanted in order to survive.

He'd spent the balance of the night considering the parallels in his personal life. How he'd gotten close to having it all, only to have the rug pulled out from under him. How afterward he figured he'd float through life jumping from bed to bed, convincing himself it was more fun that way. In the end it only left him wanting to give up. Until now. Now there was a foundation, a friendship. Now it was possible to think that rug could stay firmly under his feet.

A barely audible whimper drew his attention to the woman curled up in his arms. Her fingertips traced down his chest, leaving warm trails in their wake, just as her eyes flickered open and caught his.

"Morning," he said, watching the confusion slowly spread across her brow.

"We fell asleep?" Melissa asked, her voice as soft as her expression, still caught in the listlessness of a dream.

"One of us," he answered and gave her a crooked half-smile.

She blinked a few times and rubbed at her eyes, propping herself up. It felt like a vital body part had been amputated when she wasn't leaning against him anymore. He compensated for the lost contact by pulling the edges of the blanket up over her shoulders for her, keeping her warm as she brought her legs up, knees to chin, and sat facing him.

"You didn't?" she asked, her features sharpening as the rough edges of reality settled into her body.

"I'm still on Tokyo time. It always takes a few days to adjust," he explained.

"But the sun's up. How long was I out?"

He picked up his phone and checked the time. "Uh, three hours and… fifty-six minutes."

"Are you serious? I slept for four hours and you were just… trapped? You should have woken me," she said.

The corner of his mouth turned up at her admonition. The idea he was somehow stuck while she slept was so far removed from the truth he had to stifle a snicker. Holding her wasn't exactly difficult. Finally slowing down enough to think was a bit more so, but well worth the time.

He'd known as soon as she fell asleep what he wanted to tell her. It was the  _how_  that had made his nerves crackle. How could he get her to see his sincerity? How could he persuade her this could be real? That they could be good together? An hour into his introspection he'd found the answer he'd least expected: he couldn't. When he'd realized it, all that was left was calm acceptance and the words fell into place.

"I wasn't trapped."

"But you spent the last four hours awake and… doing what?" she asked.

"Thinking," he answered. "It brought some things into focus, gave me time to figure out exactly what I want to say. And the first thing is that I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't want you to know what happened because I knew you'd think less of me, and you'd be right."

"Norman, I-" she started.

"Please, let me finish," he interrupted, then smiled warmly. "I've been practicing for four hours."

"Okay," she agreed, unable to stop a small smile of her own.

"I came here thinking I needed to convince you of something… that I'm a good guy, that you can trust me, but I know I can't convince you of anything. All I can do is tell you the truth. And whatever you take from that… it's out of my hands."

He paused, letting the words settle over them. He wasn't used to giving up control over anything, let alone something that meant so much to him, but letting go of the notion he was in control of anything between them was the only way forward.

"I realized last night that we've come full circle. You sleeping against me on this couch… it took me back to the other time that happened. You remember?" he asked.

She pulled the blanket around her a little tighter and nodded.

"The truth is, I felt something that night. The timing wasn't right, and you wanted us to keep things simple, so I tried. I told myself it wasn't real, it was a whim, and moved on. All these women I've been with since… I was holding back. I dicked around and did stupid things and sabotaged every relationship I had. I couldn't commit to them. I couldn't because I was already committed to you."

Her wide eyes focused on him so intently he thought he might falter, but he pressed on, grateful that he'd rehearsed this a hundred times while she slept.

"I'll do anything you want, Mel. If you tell me to get out and never come back, I'll do it. If you tell me you can only give me your friendship, I'll take it in a heartbeat. And if you want more, I'll give you everything I've got. You wanted to keep things simple so here it is: whatever you decide, I'll do it because I love you. It's that simple."

The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She slowly shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, closing it again, repeating the cycle a few more times until her head dropped and the hand she'd half-raised in the air settled on her necklace. She stared down at the pendant as she ran her fingers over the smooth teardrop-shaped stone.

"It's a lot, I know. I didn't mean to spring it on you like this… I just kinda figured it out myself. Look, I'm heading back to New York tonight. It'll give you some time with all this, with the truth. You deserve that.. I hated lying to you before, and I'm not willing to do it again. I won't."

"You… you can't possibly..." She shook her head more emphatically.

"I can and I do." He knelt on the floor beside her and placed his hand lightly on her forearm, waiting for to look at him. It took almost a full minute, but when her clear blue eyes finally met his, he felt like he'd gone back in time to that first night. That same sense of liberation washed over him. He loved her, and she knew it. The rest could be crazy wonderful or nothing at all or somewhere in between. Even if following her heart led her away from him, she'd changed him for the better. She'd given him that gift.

"I mean it, you know, what I said. Whatever you decide, I'll do it. There's no… there's no expectation here. I just want you to be happy. That's all," he said.

"I wouldn't be happy with that first option," she admitted.

He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. She wasn't going to toss him on his ass and make him try to figure out how to live without her. "Good. I would have hated that."

"But I don't… I don’t know…" she trailed off. "If you love me, would you really be okay if I can only be your friend? If that's all I can give you?"

"You just told me I get to be part of your life. That's… everything. Friend or more, it's enough." He stood again, turning and heading toward the door.

"Wait." She jumped off the couch and stopped him halfway across the room. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him tightly against her.  _Home._  That inexplicable feeling of home when he reciprocated almost broke his heart. He hadn't lied. She was enough, no matter what, but to feel that and know that it could someday belong to someone else was painful. He couldn't let himself think about that right now. Today he was grateful, and he wasn't going to let anything interfere with that.

"I should go," he said and started to pull away from her.

She relaxed her hold and let her hand slip along his collar, down along the open V of his shirt. Her fingers toyed with the top fastened button. "You could stay," she whispered, looking down at her fingers and then back up at his face.

He felt himself responding to her suggestion. Being with her again, her warm skin on his, exploring every gorgeous inch of her with his hands and his mouth… it was everything he wanted and then some. But they'd spent the last month not speaking and then he blindsided her with his feelings. He couldn't take advantage of her need for some sort of comfort, and as much as he would love to pretend otherwise, he understood her desire for what it was. He recognized the same in himself.

He fought the building urge to sweep her up and carry her off to bed. "I can't," he said, squeezing her hand and then taking a step back from her. "Staying would make me the same asshole I've been acting like for the past two years. I don't want to be that guy anymore. Not with you."

She dipped her head, not quite hiding her disappointment in time, before raising it again with a half-smile and a nod of understanding. "See you in L.A., then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you there."

He turned and headed out the door, avoiding looking back at her for fear he might change his mind and do something he'd regret. Once the door was safely closed behind him, he paused and caught his breath.

It was all up to her now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the next chapter has been written and written many times. I keep feeling like it's just out of reach. I'm hoping posting here will get the creative mojo flowing again so I can give this story the ending I see in my head.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa and Norman finally have a discussion in L.A.

**A/N:** Okay, if you are reading this, you are a precious cinnamon roll of the highest magnitude. Seriously. I *love* you. It's been over two years since I have updated this fic, but not for lack of trying. This is (literally) the twentieth version of this chapter I've written. It just wouldn't cooperate before. I strongly encourage a quick re-read of previous chapters if you've been waiting for a while, because this one references earlier events. THANK YOU for not giving up on me. And THANK YOU to Emily, Liddy, Lisa, and Megan, and Sue… who have all in their unique way contributed to this story.  <3

* * *

 

The coffee table lay buried under scattered sheets of paper: pros and cons, freewriting, scribblings of every possible scenario she could imagine. Legal pads and sticky notes and torn, balled up scraps that represented the chaos in her brain.

Melissa thought writing down her hopes and fears would free her of the endless tangents cycling rampantly through her mind, but all it had done was clutter her living room just as badly. It was useless. _She_ was useless. And tomorrow she'd be on a plane, hurtling toward Norman as he waited for the decision she couldn't seem to make.

_You've got to get out of your head or you're gonna miss all the good stuff._

His words wouldn't stop rattling between her thoughts, making her head pound harder than it already had been. It was sound advice, but like any sound advice, easier said than done. She knew she overthought things; she just wasn't sure it was possible to overthink this decision, not when both of their futures would be so deeply impacted by it.

A twinge of bitterness rose in her chest. He'd given her this responsibility, this weight, of deciding not only for herself, but for him. The resentment threatened to grow, only to rapidly soften again as she reflected on their last conversation. He wasn't avoiding the hard decision. He was simply ahead of her, willing to accept whatever she wanted as his own fate.

Now she just needed to figure out what she wanted.

She tried not to laugh, and cry, at that thought. She needed more time; he would understand that. It was almost irritating how he always understood. No one seemed to get her quite like he did. Nobody else had managed to get past the walls she'd built over the last few years. Every time she thought she'd put up an insurmountable one, he'd prove he was already inside it with a simple word, or a slight touch. That knowing smile.

And then in one act, he'd stopped her building those walls altogether. She wasn't even sure how it happened. It could have been so many things… the tiny shift when he looked at her, or the way he'd silently held her while her thoughts ran wilder than the deer in his yard. Or maybe it was the way their conversation tugged gently at everything she'd tried to bury safely away.

Whatever it was, she'd let herself go completely, giving in to everything she'd kept in check for years. Being with him was beautiful. She hadn't felt so vulnerable, so alive, for a long time. It was something she couldn't allow before that moment.

No. That wasn't right. She was capable, but letting someone get that close, letting _him_ ….

A chilling tingle edged up her spine. Melissa stared down at the paper strewn in front of her, logic and emotion warring in ink-covered sheets. But that one stray thought… the one that haunted her imagination in quieter times… was nowhere to be found on them.

She drew a slow breath, steeling herself as she finally allowed that thought to fully form. All the guarded moments and hesitation. The unwillingness to let him, or anyone else, in. It was tied to that simple, painful truth life had thrown at her again and again. She couldn't face another loss. And she was losing everyone that mattered. Or at least it felt that way.

She glanced over at the spot where they'd rehearsed so long ago, thinking back to that moment when Norman gently wiped away her tears. That moment she felt safe enough to let him, and he felt something beyond that for her.

She could almost feel his lips again, lighting softly on her forehead, her cheek. And she gave voice to the line that had broken her heart over and over that night.

"I can't lose you, too."

There were no tears this time. Only the quiet sadness that walks hand in hand with newfound regret. All those walls. All that time. Not…  wasted. That time was useful. Healing. It protected her from losing him, yes, but also from losing herself, her own strength, in him. Still, the waves of wishful thinking rolled through her. She'd been so determined to protect herself, so afraid of what might happen, she'd hidden behind every defense her brain could contrive, including the one that had nearly torn him from her life for good.

She pushed the paper aside and closed her eyes, at once surprised and soothed that her thoughts remained settled, steadily focused on memories of him. The way he'd eased her grief. The flicker in his eyes that had frightened her, replaced by peaceful understanding of his touch. The calm acceptance when he'd admitted his feelings.

Melissa took another slow breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. The fear had become a comfort, an old companion, but its grip loosened more easily than she could have imagined. When she opened her eyes again, it was gone.

She gathered the paper from the coffee table, tossing it into the recycling bin as she headed toward her bedroom. All she wanted to do now was pack her suitcase.

* * *

The rush-hour traffic was stop and go. Between the horns wailing and her taxi lurching forward every few seconds, Melissa swore she was going to lose it. Good old L.A.

The day hadn't started any better on the east coast. Mechanical problems had delayed her flight twice, pushing her landing time from mid-morning to late afternoon. Her sole thought all day had been getting to Norman, to finally talking to him, and it seemed Murphy's Law was working to prevent it.

Muted pulses of tension were converging on her temples by the time the traffic gave way. Ten minutes later, she arrived at the hotel, thanking her lucky stars the extended travel portion of the day was finally over.

"Thank you," she said, tipping the gentleman who had helped her with her bag and closing the door after him. She leaned back against the walnut slab and let the stillness of the room surround her, freeing her from the outside world's nonstop assault of noise and motion. She closed her eyes and centered herself with a few deep breaths, the headache that had been looming in the cab dissolving as she began to let go of her stress.

She opened her eyes and headed straight toward the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. Ignoring the remaining tautness of her muscles, and the slightly uneasy reflection in the mirror, she took a moment to glance around at the posh accommodations. No detail was spared, from the art deco fixtures to the plush carpet to the graceful high-backed chairs along the far wall. The bed was decked out in gorgeous linens and so many pillows she wondered how she'd make room for herself.

Everything in the room fell into perfect balance, and she felt herself begin to shift away from anxious limbo. Still, only one thing would make her completely right again.

It was time.

She pulled out her phone and tapped his name, the ringing on the other end almost instantly truncated by his voice. "I thought you'd never get here."

"It took a while, but I finally made it," she replied. "Room 708, if you're ready."

"Be there in a minute. I'm one floor up."

"The door's open," she said, pulling the brass handle and flipping the deadbolt to prevent it closing again. She hung up and turned toward to the antique desk beside her, finally noticing the one thing that didn't belong in the room: a flat, brown-paper package resting on the blotter.

She slid the twine off the package and the paper fell away, revealing the framed photograph underneath. He hadn't embellished his description. If anything, he'd undersold it. She took in all the subtle details of the image… colors shimmering and blending together so they almost appeared to move, pulling her eye toward the doorway of a crumbling brick building on a dreary urban street. _THIS WAY OUT._

She gently placed the photo back on the desk when an envelope fell from behind the frame. Her name in his handwriting brought a contented smile to her face. She traced the letters slowly, then flipped the envelope over and pulled out the note.

_Sometimes we end up in places we never expected. Whatever comes next, I'm grateful we've made it here. You've shown me the way to a better life._

_All my love,_

_Norman_

For the second time in the week, he'd left her speechless. The true meaning of those words painted above the door washed over her, so different from the morning she'd stared at them with bloodshot eyes, thinking she'd made the biggest mistake of her life. It wasn't an exit. It was an entrance. She swallowed back the tightness in her throat just as she heard him quietly clear his own, announcing his arrival as he let the door close behind him.

"I see you got my gift."

He kept a bit of distance between them, respecting some sort of invisible boundary. It was a kind gesture, but ultimately pointless. His mere presence eclipsed everything else in the room. Those clear, soft eyes drew her further into him much like the graffiti in the photograph.

She tried to find the words she'd forgotten when she read his, but failed miserably. "I had this whole speech planned," she said instead.

"How did it go?" he asked quietly, leaning his head conspiratorially toward her.

She shook her head. The only words coming to mind were his. The note. Getting out of her head so she didn't miss the good stuff. How simple it all really was. She took a tentative step toward him.

"I don't think there's really a decision to make here." His brow knitted in concern, but she continued. "If the past month taught me anything, it's that I can't bear to lose your friendship."

His shoulders caved almost imperceptibly and he swallowed hard, but he nodded.

"I'll always be your friend, Mel. Always."

He began to turn toward the door, but she stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm before he could turn to go.

"I wasn't finished," she said, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. She felt cruel for dragging this out, but she needed him to hear her. To understand exactly what she was saying.

"Being your friend… I need that. But I want…" The disappointment in his eyes slowed her words, and she struggled to get them out faster to spare him that feeling. "I want more. I'm not choosing between being your friend and being in a relationship, because I can't. I can't have _more_ without that foundation of friendship. So my decision is that I won't choose."

She slid her hand from his arm to his cheek, her fingers gently caressing his face as she stepped as close to him as she could.

"There's just you and me. Together." A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "Simple, right?"

The smile softened as her lips met his. Her breath left her lungs, everything she'd held back while she spoke suddenly rushing to the surface, threatening to overwhelm her. He relaxed into her, his hands slipping around her back, hauling her closer, deeper, until she felt light-headed and wondered if her pulse would ever stop racing. She drew back the tiniest fraction to find her breath again, winding her fingers into his hair and keeping him as close as she could, waiting for the tightness in her chest to subside.

"Some speech," he whispered.

"Yeah," she said, tilting her head to look at him. "I didn't practice for four hours, but I think it was alright."

"It was perfect," he replied, his features reflecting the warmth and relief she was feeling. The past week had simultaneously dragged and raced by as she'd considered the path they would take. Now, here they were, on a new path, and she remembered how it felt that night in December. The _What if?_ question she couldn't shake until they'd answered with a sensual sweetness that had led them on this course. How easily she'd let him in then. How hard she'd struggled afterward to end up in his arms now.

"What is it?" he asked. Melissa realized she was staring at her hand as it wandered over his chest, completely lost in her thoughts.

"That speech almost went a different way," she admitted. "I wasn't sure if…. Sometimes it seems like you believe what you're saying in the moment, but later, when you've had time and distance to think about it, you change your mind."

He shook his head slightly, and she cupped his jaw, reassuring him as she continued.

"Then I remembered what you said," she explained. "That whatever I could give you, it was enough. You wanted me to be happy, no matter what that meant for you. You could have told me you loved me a thousand times over and I probably would have talked myself out of it, but that…."

"That's all I want," he said, "For you to be happy."

"I know. And that's how I know this is real."

He leaned his forehead against hers, running his fingers lightly along the nape of her neck. "I love you."

She held still in that moment, allowing the words to slowly take root, then bloom through her as his mouth met hers again.

"Norman," she hesitated, pulling back, concerned with how he would react to what she was about to say. "I… this is all so new for me. I-"

He traced her face with his fingertips, letting them slip across her bottom lip as she stopped short.

"I've known for a long time. Somewhere deep down. You don't have to say it. I don't want you to until you're ready." He tilted her chin up slightly to punctuate his sentence with another light kiss.

His instinct was so spot on it was unsettling. She blinked and shook her head slightly in disbelief that he knew her better than anyone else, perhaps better than she knew herself. It didn't seem possible, but when she searched his eyes, the only thing she found was understanding.

"I want to," she replied.

"I know. I've always been a step ahead of you," he smiled down at her mischievously. She couldn't help but laugh at his feigned cockiness, appreciating that their playfulness hadn't disappeared within the seriousness of what they felt for each other.

"Okay, I've only ever been two steps behind you, except with this. So you may have to listen to me gloat. Or maybe just listen to me tell you I love you some more," he said.

"Mmmm," she hummed, pulling him closer again. "Say it again."

"I love you," he repeated, the sentiment leaving her nearly as breathless as the kiss that followed it.

"Show me," she whispered against his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my lovelies… this is the last full-length chapter of this story. I was advised to warn people about that. ;) There's an epilogue yet to be posted, but we have, at long last, reached the end of this journey. Thank you for joining me on this adventure. It was my first McReedus fic, and I'm grateful to you for your encouragement. You really are beautiful. <3


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new season begins...

**A/N:**  Lovelies, I can't believe we finally made it here. This is the first multichapter fic I have EVER finished (I have issues LOL). THANK YOU for all the wonderful comments and encouragement along the way. And an extra special thank you to the multitude of beta readers who helped me SO much with this. You are beautiful.

 

* * *

 

*Two Months Later*

She wasn't yet willing to open her eyes, but the pale orange haze and warmth on her face told Melissa morning had arrived. The sun streamed at a low angle through the bedroom window. She kept her eyes closed, hesitating to greet the new day and instead burrowing slightly deeper into the blankets.  Memories of the night before replayed in her mind. Norman's sly smile. Her wandering hands. The bubbles from the champagne dancing across her tongue until he pulled her close and chased them away with his.

She hadn't complained when their makeshift festivities for completing the season's first episode transitioned to a more personal celebration. She'd woken up alone too often since diving headlong into this relationship. They had made a point to move slowly after L.A., holding off on the physical side of things until their schedules could stabilize with the new season. The night before had happened so naturally, without a thought, and she almost didn't want to break the spell this morning. Everything about it was just… _right_. She allowed herself a contented sigh and at last opened her eyes, rolling toward his side of the bed.

It hadn't quite registered that he wasn't next to her when the whir of the coffee grinder broke through the quiet between her and the kitchen. She stretched and smiled to herself, already feeling at ease with their newly minted domesticity. Getting out of her head was starting to become almost routine, at least when it came to him.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Coffee's ready," he said as she made her way to where he sat, fork in one hand, script in the other. She eyed the mug next to his breakfast plate and took a sip, only barely setting it back on the table before he pulled her onto his lap. "Hey now… there's plenty. No need to steal mine."

"But it tastes better this way," she said, nestling closer to him, letting her lips brush his neck just under his ear.

"Hmm, yeah, it does." He turned his head and caught her chin gently, tilting it to give her a light kiss. "You're gonna make me late if you keep that up."

"When's your call time?" she asked, her voice innocent, despite the mischief she knew was showing behind her eyes.

"In about forty-five minutes. Yours?"

"Not until noon. It's a shame you have to be on set so early. I was hoping for a lazy morning." She ran her fingers down the front of his t-shirt. "Well, not completely lazy."

He shook his head, smiling despite his resistance to her flirtations. "You trying to get me fired, McBride? You're lucky I love you or you'd be in big trouble right now."

Melissa smirked back at him, raising an eyebrow. "How much trouble?"

"So…"

His mouth almost met hers, veering at the last second and landing softly on her cheek.

"Much..."

He repeated his actions, kissing her other cheek.

"Troub-" She didn't let him get away a third time, taking matters, and his face, into her own hands and kissing him deeply. When she drew away, his eyes remained closed as he licked his lips, shaking his head.

"Who am I kidding?" he asked. "I'm the one in trouble here. Never could resist you."

His eyes opened, their focus landing on her neck. She watched as he took in her features, taking his time as his gaze followed his fingers along her jaw, pausing at her bottom lip, then her cheek. He held her there, finally letting his eyes meet hers, and the playfulness she'd been feeling a minute ago dissipated into that familiar, welcome flutter that used to frighten her.

She was barely breathing, almost paralyzed as she waited for him to say it, those same words that made her lose her bearings each time he did. The ones she'd come to appreciate even more than she thought possible. Despite her unreadiness to repeat them back to him, he never stopped telling her how he felt in the last two months. Never asked for anything more than the opportunity to say them over and over, which she always asked him to do. Each profession of love she had answered by asking him to say it again. And he never failed to do so.

Melissa felt it then. Light and heavy all at once. Peaceful and crackling through every nerve. The same thing he must have felt when she'd seen the flicker of change in his eyes.

He'd just begun to utter the phrase when she drew in a shaky breath, stopping him as a look of concern replaced the placid expression on his face.

"I'm okay. I just… I…"

Trying to explain it was pointless, but she realized there was no need. Instead she covered his hand with her own, pressing it fully to her cheek, turning slightly to kiss his palm before letting go and caressing his face.

She took a steady breath, and finally put words to the emotion that had overtaken her.

"I love you."

His gentle smile buoyed her, and she couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Say it again," he whispered, teasing her with the reply she'd so often given him. She took a breath to repeat herself, but this time he cut her off, his mouth offering a different method of communication. She grew dizzy from it all. The kiss. Or the revelation. Or both. Definitely both.

Norman released her, beaming, before letting out a quiet laugh.

"What?" she asked.

"Think I'm gonna be late."

Before she could question him, he stood, cradling her before she tumbled off his lap. A yelp of protest escaped her before she started giggling, feeling every inch like a schoolgirl with a crush. The feeling lasted only a few seconds before common sense kicked in.

"Norman, we can't. You have to be on set. _Really_."

"Best case, I get a lecture. Worst case, they fire me."

"Exactly," she said, "and that would be awful."

"Would you still love me?" he asked.

"Of course I would," she said, the giddiness building in her chest once again. "I’m not gonna miss the good stuff anymore, remember?"

He looked at her with mock skepticism as they reached the bedroom.

"I'll still love you."

"That's all I need," he said, laying her on the bed. "You're enough."

She shook her head, only vaguely protesting now as his body half-covered hers. She instinctively reached for him, drawing him closer, reveling in his touch. Goosebumps sprung up on her skin as his lips grazed at her throat, lingering, until he inched his way toward her shoulder. At this rate, they'd both be fired today, but she realized it didn't matter to her as she began to move with him, against him. Nothing mattered in this moment. Nothing but him.

And he was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not overly into fashion, but Melissa's outfit is somewhat important regarding later events, so I felt the need to include a description. There are links to the actual items below if you'd like a visual reference. (Even a fashion-challenged person like me fell in love with that blouse.) I tried to pick items Melissa might actually wear.
> 
> Blouse:  
> http://www.freepeople.com/cutwork-short-sleeve-banded-top
> 
> Skirt:  
> http://www.modcloth.com/shop/skirts/sway-by-the-sea-skirt
> 
> Also, I prefer Twizzlers to Red Vines, but Red Vines just seemed to fit better. ;)


End file.
